Beginning Again: Book 1 in the Second Chances series (Crimson Romance) (3 page)

He made a phone call as soon as he got back to his hotel room. “She’s not what you told me to expect. I don’t think I’ll get what you want from her.”

The man at the other end of the line said, “Look, Michael, our client says Liz Fairchild has the information. Your job is to figure out how to get it. Maybe she’s pissed off enough at him to just give it to you. Maybe you’ll have to search for it. But just do it.”

“Something’s not tracking for me. She’s not some burned-out divorcée like the client said, she’s … ”

“What’s that got to do with providing representation for our client? Are you using your big brain here or your little brain?”

“Stop saying our client. He’s your client. And for fuck’s sake, David, I don’t look at every woman I meet as a potential bed partner.”

“No, usually only the young and nubile ones. And Liz Fairchild’s neither, I hear. Just get me the damn information and then sweet-talk her into bed if that floats your boat.”

“I don’t know … ” Collins let the words hang there.

“Look, you owe me, man.” David waited for a response. When none came, he said, “Besides, if you’ve got a thing for her, you’ll have fun. She’s bound to give in. There’s not a woman alive who isn’t susceptible to your renowned charm.”

Collins sighed. “Okay, okay. You don’t need to bullshit me. I’ll see what I can find out. But when this is over, I’m done.”

“Get me what I need and I won’t bother you again.”

• • •

On Saturday, Collins was waiting outside the gallery when Liz came downstairs. In place of his jeans and sweatshirt, he wore well-tailored gray trousers and a lightweight black jacket over a form-fitting black T-shirt that must have been silk, the way it clung to his pecs and abs. After what she’d seen of his artwork, she doubted he had to go to a gym to keep himself in shape. Just lugging around the materials would be exercise enough. And yet his sculpture had a delicate, soaring quality to it that belied the strength and weight of the metal with which he created it. That was what made it so marvelous.

But, in spite of what she kept trying to tell herself, she was more interested this afternoon in the artist than in his art. The look of approval in his eyes made her glad she’d taken care with what she was wearing — a pair of white slacks and a sleeveless shell of green she knew matched her eyes. Her sandals were expensive but modest and her silver chain and hoop earrings sterling.

“I’m glad you took my advice about wearing emerald green,” he said.

“Oh, I just put on the first thing I grabbed from my closet,” she lied.

He’d never know it took her twice as long to clean up the mess she’d made trying on half her clothes as it did to get dressed in what she’d finally selected.

The dedication was an eye-opener for Liz. The art gurus of Portland were out in force, fawning over Collins. She was almost embarrassed enough to leave when she thought about how she’d behaved when he came into her gallery. If she didn’t recognize the name of one of the up-and-coming sculptors in the region, what the hell was she doing setting herself up in an art and design business?

When he introduced her as his Portland representative, more than one gallery owner who’d come to talk to Collins glared at her. Until then, she’d only intellectually understood the expression “if looks could kill.” Had she been a lot younger, she knew exactly what they’d think she’d done to snag him for her gallery.

After the dedication, Collins made the rounds chatting up the politicians who were there. It intrigued Liz until it occurred to her that they were involved in selecting artists for public commissions and he was lobbying in the most subtle of ways. Impressed, she watched him move easily through both the art and political worlds.

Apparently there was no one this man couldn’t charm, which made her feel slightly better at having been manipulated into attending the event.

Finally, the crowd thinned to only a few hangers-on, several of them young women who seemed interested in Collins personally, not artistically. After politely taking his leave of them, he said goodbye to the remaining art and political people and found her visiting with another gallery owner.

“Sorry it took so long. You ready to go, Liz?”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I can catch a ride with Sophie.” She indicated the woman sitting next to her.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to leave with the guy who brought you?” he asked with a sly smile.

“She did. But she’s not here to give me hell if I don’t this one time.”

Sophie Woods stood up. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take your mother’s advice, Liz. I’m driving down to Eugene to see my daughter, not back into Portland. Besides, if you don’t give Collins cover, those groupies over there might attack. They seem to be circling, looking for a way in.”

“See, I need you to protect me from bodily harm,” he said.

“I have a feeling you can take care of yourself quite adequately. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want to run the risk of letting you get injured before the ink even dries on our contract.”

As they walked toward his car, his hand settled lightly on the small of her back. His touch was enough to make her feel dizzy. His hand, his beautiful hand, was right above the curve of her bottom, heat seeping through the fabric of her clothes, radiating from her back to every cell in her body.

He opened the car door for her. She had her seatbelt fastened before she realized he was waiting for a response to something she hadn’t heard. “Sorry, say that again?”

“I asked if you’d like to stop for something to eat. What were you woolgathering about?”

“Just appreciating being here. Maybe feeling a little embarrassed to find out half my competition would have killed to have you in their galleries and I gave you a hard time when you came into mine.”

He was smiling — no, smirking — as he went to the other side of the car and got in. “Good. You owe me. I like it when the balance of power tilts in my favor.”

“If I own … sorry, owe … you, do I get to pick where we eat tonight and pay?”

“Ignoring the Freudian slip, I guess it does. What’s your pleasure? We can do anything you’d like.”

Liz looked quickly at him and wasn’t fooled by the innocent expression. The pleasure he was referring to wasn’t gastronomic, she was sure.

She didn’t know what she was going to do about that, so she pretended his comment was about dinner. “Well, as long as we’re out here, how about Wong’s King? They have great Chinese food and it’s not far off I-205 on Division.”

“Love good Chinese. You’re on.”

After another long dinner complete with an animated discussion about art and an exchange of who-had-traveled-where stories, they arrived at what Liz feared would be the awkward part of the day. They were back at her apartment.

He parked in front of the gallery and walked her to the back door at the foot of the steps that led up to her residence. She put the key in the lock and turned to him, holding out her hand, making it obvious she was going for a goodnight handshake.

“Thank you for including me today. I loved seeing your work.”

“That’s not why I asked you to go with me,” he said, taking her hand and drawing her to him. “I wanted to spend time with you.” He dipped his head; she could see the kiss coming.

She warded it off by putting her hand on his chest. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I don’t believe you.” He tugged at her, to get her closer. “You reacted the same way I did the first time we looked at each other. It was electric — for both of us.”

“I still don’t think … ”

“There’s your mistake, Liz. Don’t think.” He touched her lips softly with his mouth, a mere brush of a kiss, then his tongue lightly tasted her lower lip.

She shuddered. He smelled of an intoxicating mixture of something mostly citrus, a little spicy, and a whole lot male. It had been a long time since she’d smelled anything that good.

“See, when you don’t think, it’s a good idea.” He tried to move closer but she backed away from him.

“No, it’s not.”

Shaking his head, he said, “Why isn’t it a good idea to do what we both want to do?”

“First of all, I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“You must have been very precocious. I’m thirty-eight and you’re … what? Thirty-nine? Forty?”

“I’m forty-six and, okay, you’re older than I thought you were. But I’m still a lot older than you are.”

“Which made a difference when I was ten and you were eighteen. It doesn’t matter now.” He moved nearer. “We’re adults, not kids, and we … ”

“It still matters. You’re one of my artists. It’s not right.”

“Oh, of course. You can seduce me for devious purposes. Or take advantage of my innocence. Wait. Didn’t I sign a contract that keeps you from using me? And I’m an attorney, which pretty much eliminates any chance I’m innocent.”

“Suppose my other artists find out and think I treat you better?”

“If your contracts won’t keep you from doing something like that, I’d say your personality will.” He put his hands on her waist and tried to pull her closer.

“Collins, I’m serious. This isn’t going to happen. You need to get to your hotel anyway. You have a long drive tomorrow to get back to the Wallowas.”

He stared at her, as if trying to decide if she meant it. Finally, he sighed. “Okay, sweetheart, you win. I won’t try to persuade you to let me come upstairs.” He cupped her face in one hand. “But surely that earns me a goodnight kiss.”

He didn’t give her a chance to say no. Brushing his lips across hers, he barely touched her. She’d thought every part of him was rock solid but that wasn’t true. His mouth was soft, soft and sweet. The kiss was light and feathery and ended with him nibbling on her lower lip for a second or two. As he pulled away she felt relieved it hadn’t been more complicated … and disappointed for the same reason.

Then he came back for more.

This time he was insistent, his mouth sensuous, not sweet. His tongue explored her lips, urging her to let him investigate further. She could feel the warm moisture of his mouth, couldn’t keep a quiet moan from escaping as she felt herself respond. Her lips parted and he made a swift foray in, tangling his soft, velvety tongue with hers, promising what could be as he pulled her tight against him. His arousal was obvious. But just as the thought bubbled up through her brain that she had to stop this, he broke off the kiss.

“Goodnight, Liz.” He touched her mouth with his index finger. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

She took a deep breath before responding. “Ah … right. Later.” Turning to open the door, she remembered why there would be a later and spun around. “Oh, wait. When will later be? I mean, when will you bring your work to me?”

“How about the Monday before your opening? Will that work for you?”

“Of course.” She avoided his eyes as she asked, “Will you be here for the opening?” The half of her that wanted him to say “yes” battled with the other half, the part that hoped he’d just drop off his work and go back to the mountains.

“Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be in Portland for a week at least. I have some business I need to take care of.”

“Good. I mean it’ll give me a chance … give us a chance … we can get your work set up so you’re happy with it.”

He smiled as if he understood exactly what it would give them a chance to do. “I can’t imagine you doing anything but a good job of displaying it.”

“Okay, so, I’ll see you then. You have my number, my phone number,” she clarified. “Call if you have a problem.”

“Of course.” He was standing so close she could feel his breath on her face.

Entering the hallway, she closed the door, took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh of relief, and went upstairs. She’d barely gotten to the top of the steps when her cell phone rang. It didn’t take a genius, or caller ID, to know who it was.

“Yes, Collins?”

“You said to call if I had a problem,” he said. “I have one.”

“And what would that be?”

“I don’t see my car. I think it might have been stolen.”

She walked to the window, brushed the curtain aside and looked out. “It’s right in front of the gallery where you left it. But I don’t see you.”

“I’m in the parking lot, in the back. And I can’t see my car. It’s a problem.”

“Did you forget how to get from the back of the building to the front?”

“Apparently. Considering that I can’t come up there to get directions, why don’t you come down and show me?”

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or yell at him. “Are you serious?”

“About you coming down here? Yes. About not knowing how to find my car? Maybe not so much. Just come back down for a minute, please?”

She hesitated, sure she’d regret going downstairs, but knowing she was about to anyway. “All right. If that’ll get you on your way.”

When she opened the door, he took her hand and held it firmly as they walked around the building.

“Oh,” he said when they got to the street. “There it is.”

He punched the button on his remote and she heard the door unlock. She shook her head. “What the hell is this about, Collins?”

“This,” he said, pushing her up against the side of the car. “It’s about this.” He took her in his arms and pinned her with his body. Taking control of her mouth, kissing her as if he wanted that more than he wanted to breathe, his tongue tasted every inch of her mouth. His hands skimmed her hips, dipped in at her waist, then moved up to the sides of her breasts. His thumbs circled both nipples. She could feel them harden, feel the heat and dampness between her legs that he raised in her. Oh, God, did he knew how to kiss, how to hold her. This was more like her fantasy of kissing than her actual experience.

Her arms seemed to develop a will of their own and went around his neck as her body arched into his, pressing her breasts against his chest, wanting those hands to … to what? To move down her hips to her bottom and pull her tighter against his erection so she could feel him, hard and aroused. The thought had no sooner shot through her mind than he did it.

If he could read her thoughts, she was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble. She had to stop him before it went any further.